


Lepidicktera

by RadioactiveRoulette



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Praise Kink, Reader has cis female anatomy, Self-Insert, reader not referred to by gendered pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioactiveRoulette/pseuds/RadioactiveRoulette
Summary: Unfortunate circumstances lead to fortunate situations.Sometimes you just want to get to know everyone's favorite mothman. Intimately.NSFW.
Relationships: Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone)/Reader, Mothman (Character)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	Lepidicktera

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for this wonderful title goes to my partners.  
> Credit for convincing me to use this title goes solely to the Indridfucker discord. Those people are fantastic.

Thunder rumbles above, because of course it fucking does.

The roads have long transitioned from the smooth government funded pavement to the ever increasing chop of country roads. 

"Anywhere other than home would be great, West Virginia." Your voice cracks a bit from disuse… it's been hours since the radio gave up on obtaining a signal entirely, now just the fuzz of static forms the soundtrack to your inner turmoil. It isn't like it matters, not really. There's no one to entertain anymore, no performance necessary. Just you. Just you and your thoughts. 

Clearing your throat a bit to shake off the dust, you glance at the worn passenger seat. Empty. It's past the point of sadness. Lovecraft was wrong, you muse, jaw clenching involuntarily. The descent into 'madness' is absolute and instantaneous. Fury washes over you in a swell that threatens to overcome your every fiber. Years spent. Years lost.

Gripping the wheel tighter, you frown. No, no not lost. They didn't get your time… it's still yours and during it all? 

You were happy. There was some comfort in reliability. You might not have that companionship anymore, but you've faced far worse and come out better for it. You will not let this consume you. A wet chuckle slips from your lips. Nothing will consume you. You're not into vore like that, usually.

You are going camping, however. Camping alone. Camping in the woods in an honest to gods forest in an honest to gods tent. You may get eaten alive by mosquitoes at this rate, but hopefully the looming rain will hold off the worst of the swarms.

This is good for you. You've gone through this exact loop of thinking at least thirty times now, and anytime now it will stick. Positive thoughts for a positive self healing trip. Sure, it was initially a romantic weekend in a mountain cabin and after everything fell apart you couldn't afford the trip solo, and sure… now you're driving six hours alone for a plot of land in the middle of the forest. But it's national forest. You like parks. 

Rain hits the window, fat droplets quivering for a moment before dispersing down the windshield. Quivering! Oh good, yes - yet another thing you won't be doing this weekend, which is great because it leaves more time for… hiking alone in the Monongahela. There's probably a Public Service Announcement warning brokenhearted saps like yourself to not be complete dipshits and go off alone, but it is fine. You grew up near the area, surely that gives you a survival bonus. 

The rain, unamused by your pity party, continues to pour with increasing force. Catching a sign through the torrential downpour, you breathe a sigh of relief. There's a rest station a few miles up, so worst case you can pull over, pee, and wait out the storm. Best case - they have snacks. The rain slows your progress immensely, barely at a crawl on the muddy road as you reach up to flick on your hazards. Having watched far too many horror movies growing up, you're not going to make yourself a target for disaster unnecessarily.

Pulling into the rest stop, you find this is absolutely a best case scenario - not only are snacks available, there is a verifiable cornucopia of cryptid themed treats on sale in the vending machine. A cryptidcopia, if you will. And you absolutely will. It's been years since you've spent time willingly on this side of the states. Seeing the adorable mushy faces captured in ice cream bars serves as a pleasant reminder of the good memories you have of growing up in rural West Virginia. Selecting the cryptid boasting the best ice cream to package ratio, you bounce with anticipation as a chocolate covered mothman plunks down into the slot. It isn't exactly hot, this time of year, but the torrential rain gives off an unacceptable humidity, creating an ineluctable awareness of each labored breath.

Cradling your prize, you slink back to your car, sticking as close to the protective walls as physics will allow. A shiver slides down your spine as you contemplate your surroundings. If you're being completely honest with yourself - as you rarely are, this rain won't be letting up anytime soon. Fingertips chilled slightly, you trail one down the package. The cryptid staring back at you is less of the mothman you spent your teenage years hearing about and more weird owl with a singular blobish pink googly eye... but you can only be so critical of dairy based art. With a shrug, you tear open the wrapper. 

Biting directly into your cold cryptid's ass, you can't help but grin. The taste is sub-par at best; leaving a chalky residue coating your tongue. Beggars really can't be choosers when eating rest stop Popsicle. You quickly devour the rest, thankful the taste is at least somewhat palatable. Wearily starting your car, you make your way back onto the road turned river.

Growing up you found beauty in these storms, finding joy in the freak lightning that would streak across the sky when the heat became too much to bear. You enjoy mountain weather, you remind yourself. Just apparently not when you have to drive in it. Evidently your car has similar protests, as a particularly wicked rut causes the engine to sputter. 

"No, no no. Nonono." You pat the dash, soothingly. "We'll be there soon, keep it together just a bit longer. " Desperation seeps into your tone, egged on by the frantic waving of your wiper blades. "We're only a half hour out, c'mon c'mon!"

You've called this car many things in your life. Unreasonable will immediately and irrevocably be added to the forefront of that list as the car ceases to respond to the incessant pressure you're applying on the gas pedal. The traitorous vehicle rolls to a stop, front tire seating deeply within a particularly nasty rut. The dull thud of your forehead against the steering wheel doesn't add to your headache, but it certainly doesn't help.

Sitting up slowly, you rest against the headrest. With sluggish purpose you reach up and slide back the sun roof cover, exposing the cold glass beneath. Your fingers track a few steady raindrops smacking against the roof. At least you can just crash in your car until the rain subsides, where it's warm and dry. Goosebumps crawl up your forearm in belligerent contradiction. Fine, you amend. At least you can just crash in your car where it's dry.

As a singular drip plops onto your nose, you wonder if you'll ever stop spitting directly in the face of Murphy and their most annoying law. It takes a moment before comprehension dawns, widening your focus to the entire roof as you watch with horror as dark stains spread, pooling in the fabric above. Reaching behind your seat blindly, eyes never leaving the drooping above, you manage to wrap a hand in the strap of your duffel, swinging the door wide as the bubble above finally pops. 

The torrent of water overwhelms a fair half of your body, splashing up to soak through your jeans and shirt. Desperate for shelter, car abandoned to become the Kelpie it's always dreamed of being, you slosh through the mud back towards the rest area. You can't exactly see it from here, but following the road away from your car seems like the best bet. Progress is slow: feet getting stuck in the squelch of mud, rain beating down in your face, and wind causing you to shiver uncomfortably. Casting a furtive glance towards your surroundings, you realize with dismay that you still can't see the rest area, but you are much closer to the forest than you were twenty minutes ago. Here the treeline is close enough to cross into, and considering the alternative is more mush galumphing, you decide you'll take your chances. 

Entering the dense forest is almost a religious experience. Reason would indicate that yes, the rain is still falling but your senses tell you otherwise. Ambient noise is different here. Instead of having every molecule accosted by the heavy downpour, you can almost hear yourself think again. An -albeit dulled- crack of thunder reminds you of your purpose. Your skin prickles at the base of your neck, but you can't be sure why. Orienting as best you can, you set a course for the rest stop.

Or you did, you swear. You definitely attempted to. You clearly didn't though as instead of a rest area, you face a shallow sloping cave… not deep enough for a den and abandoned enough to give you time to consider your options. 

On the one hand, you could stay here, wait for the rain to let up, make it back out to the road and then call a mechanic when you get to the rest area. You are fairly certain you could get the number for Whistle's Garage. As you consider the alternatives, you find there's really no need to go to the other hand. Fuck the other hand. A concept, you remind yourself, that you will become intimately familiar with now that you're single again.

Slinking down against the stone of the small cave, you pull off your bag to inspect the gear you've got to work with.

Most of the bag got splashed with your car roof's collapse, and the contents did not fair much better. You fish out a slightly damp change of clothes, condoms, a para-cord bracelet, some granola bars, water, and an emergency first aid kit. Turning the bag over to shake free any additional supplies stuck in the crevices, you hear a wet smack. Leaning over curious, you find a flaccid membership card boasting your gyms low low monthly rate. Your eyes roll without prompting, because you've trained them well.

The first aid kit is the most useful, full of fantastic inventions like hot hands and an emergency thermal blanket. The clothes will be a dream once they've dried, and the food and water could last you a few days, if needed. You find yourself praying it doesn't come to that. The condoms, well. Teenage you would have brought them on a camping trip in hopes of meeting the mothman or something ridiculous. You chuckle a bit, biting your inner cheek to keep from grinning too much at the silly idea in your head. 

It is absolutely idiotic. Moronic really. Comical… and yet. You came out here for self love, and sure. You didn't make it quite to the campgrounds yet, and sure your car is half Nøkken at this point, drowning under the West Virginian sunlight. But if you can't be silly alone in the woods, making the best out of a strange circumstance… when can you?

Grinning ear to ear you pop your head out of the small cave and with a singsong voice "Mr. Mothman! Moth me a man." You snort, giggling with mirth. Teenage you would be so proud. "Mothman! I'm here to suck dick and get lost and I already did that second one." Hiccuping with laughter you rear back to yell again "MO-Hnngh!" 

Your body nearly slams against the cave wall. It would have surely were it not for the muscular arm wedged firmly between you and the stone. Wind flutters in your face abruptly and you find yourself wedged between a rock and a hard place. You gape in awe as darkness incarnate shifts and begins to speak. 

"I would really rather you refrain." The tone is lilting, relaxed, in control. 

Confused for a moment you blink slowly, processing the plethora of new information. Mothman is real, check. Mothman is embracing you, double check. Mothman has a very good voice. Triple check. Mothman used that very good voice to tell you something and for the life of you, you aren't entirely sure if you responded. "Which part?" You mutter, belatedly.

"I don't … what?" A large pair of red eyes glow at you. It would seem standard expressions didn't translate to the insectoid face, but you'd swear up and down that he's taken aback. Claws flex into the soft flesh of your arm and you gulp, running your tongue across your lips, and you watch him study your mouth with growing interest. 

"Which. Part." You repeat, confidence growing. "You want me to refrain from the singing or was that in reference to that dick sucking offer?" You brighten momentarily. "Or were you asking for a refrain, like of the song."

Bewilderment isn't something giant moth people often experience, at least, that's your assumption. The expression is muddled, mostly by those impressive mandibles, but the surprised chittering does get the point across well.

"That last one? Definitely not that." The mothman seems to consider you for a moment. "You're taking this surprisingly well, I must admit." He's tall, overwhelmingly so. His hair? Ears? - threaten to brush the ceiling as he cants his head with open curiosity.

"Well I'm either living in a teenage fever dream or I'm in the presence of the real mothman." You shrug, movement rubbing against the inner joint of what you assume functions like an elbow. The low trill that reverberates through his chest and vibrates your sternum has you arching a brow.

"I really don't prefer that sobriquet." He murmurs, face almost imperceptibly shifting closer to your own. "You can call me Indrid."

_"And you can call me anytime_." You say in tandem. Surprise flashes across your face. "Get that one a lot?" You shift again, this time bringing your fingers of the opposite hand up to brush gently against the joint. A guttural primal noise rumbles through him, causing you to grin.

"Ah, something of the sort. I run a little faster than most." Your mind floods with _ideas_ at that statement, things you could do with information like that, with a person like him. Indrid lets out another growl, unprompted. His voice, pitched low to reverberate in your very soul, comes as little more than a whisper beside your ear. His breath ghosts across your neck, feather soft. "Does the offer stand?"

Your enthused nod causes another low trill to fill the cave. The rain, still relentless in its downpour, acts as a barrier of sorts, magnifying the sounds within the cave. And… smells? There's an overwhelmingly sweet scent that permeates the air now; it sets your senses alight. 

Indrid's eyes widen just as you open your mouth to ask if he can smell it too. He's not capable of blushing, you'd bet money on that, and yet you get the distinct impression that he's embarrassed. Whatever has him fidgeting in front of you needs to be dealt with swiftly, you decide. You'd much rather have this mess of a moth, no.. man, fidgeting for entirely different reasons. 

Still sandwiched firmly between Indrid and the gentle curve of the cave wall, you extricate one arm. Tracing fingers up the smooth bicep, you map a path you intend to soon mimic with your tongue. Exploring Indrid's body so deliberately allows you to really take in the beauty of the creature pinning you to the wall. He seems content to appease your inquisitive sensibilities, shifting slightly to allow you to continue, never moving further than an inch or two away.

You'd noticed his sheer height almost immediately - he towers over you, and it would be a lie to say that didn't do something for you. He's not exactly the epitome of darkness that you initially thought had descended upon you, more the epitome of light grayness. Delicate down covers his head and neck, leaving a soft mane that you bury your fingers in immediately. The things you mistook for ears are actually antennae, which is probably why you're able to read Indrid so well, he seems to emote exclusively with them. Even now, as you stroke his mane, the leafy looking antennae are relaxed and content. Trailing your hand down the side of his torso you find another set of shoulders and realize with some bemusement that his lower two arms have twined around your waist, holding you firmly in place. Sliding your questing hands around his thorax you find the juncture of his wings and his body. If the keening trill that escapes him is any indicator, you've stumbled into a very sensitive area. You hope you get a chance to follow the curve of those wings with your tongue as well, exploring the vast ridge of his monstrous wingspan. He gasps in your ear, a quiet broken thing, as if he can read your thoughts.

" _Can you read my mind?"_ Your eyes seek his as your words mingle in the pressing stillness of the cave. 

Indrid takes a shuddering breath, straightening to his full height. "No, I…" He releases you entirely, moving towards the opposing wall and already your body aches for the press of him against you once more. "I can see the future. All futures. It often turns to a game of probability, so most improbable things are hidden from me until the very moment they become absolute." Comprehension dawns, a wicked smile stretches it's way across your features. Walking up behind him, you caress the lower band of his wings. He spins, antennae standing at attention. "This doesn't bother you?"

"I fail to see how future vision would put me off of you when being a literal moth person didn't." You shrug, stretching your arms above your head to crack your back. Your shirt, still damp, clings to your skin, stretching taut with each movement. Squaring yourself in front of Indrid, you grin before dropping to your knees.

Well, that was the plan at least. Instead you find yourself weightlessly dangling in front of him, mandibles clicking in reproach as he carries you back to the wall. Arms pinned above your head, excitement flooding your body, you watch as Indrid takes another arm to trail a claw gently from your jugular to the top of your shirt. "If you're still sure, I find myself much more interested in this being a mutual endeavor." Writhing under his gaze, you nod fervently. 

Indrid takes his time, a claw tracing the neckline of your top before slowly, exquisitely, dragging down the front of your body. The wet fabric catches beneath his touch, pulling the already threadbare shirt to its limit. "I want to see you, I want to watch you come undone. May I?" He waits, claws ghosting over the fabric of your shirt as you let out a whine. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I would really like an answer." 

Huffing, you breathe in deeply through your nose to clear your head. "Yes, Indrid. I've got spares, fucking go for it!" Your voice is ragged with want, and you see a smile grace his mouth from between his mandibles. 

"Excellent news, but I wasn't planning on messing them up other than to…" taking a free hand, Indrid slowly rolls the bottom of your shirt, slowly releasing the fabric from your body, to offer the rolled up portion to your mouth. 

"Oh hell yes." You take the fabric between your teeth, exposing your torso to the air and his eager gaze. You arch as that claw traces back down the valley between your breasts, releasing the front clasp of your bra with practiced ease. He drags your arms higher, lower set of arms holding you firmly against the wall before unfurling a long coiled alien tongue and playfully teasing your cheek. You fight to hide the smile that springs up behind your shirt gag. The clacking of mandibles in response prove your efforts unsuccessful. You watch in anxious excitement as he finally drags that tongue across your body, starting with even pressure at the waistband of your pants, leisurely skimming your skin, igniting fire wherever it touches. Indrid flirts with the edge of each nipple, want rippling through your core as he declines to commit to the caress completely. You shift impatiently as his tongue once again circles the skin surrounding each peak, achingly close and too far away. Your wiggle as he repeats the process, timing it just as he moves to retreat and that tongue flicks over your nipple, igniting you with renewed lust. A moan escapes, wanton and shameless as you wordlessly beg for more. 

Retracting that delightfully sinful tongue, Indrid shifts closer, body a firm weight against yours once again. His chitin is cool against your fevered skin, ripping another whimper from you. "Who am I to deny such sweet requests? Tell me what you want." 

You groan, twisting in his firm but pleasant grip. "You, all of you? Everything. Now."

Whatever witty reply he has planned seems lost at your words. His eyes glow brighter, antennae rigid once again as he lets out a similar groan. "No, no, I want to savor you." His words shake on uneven breaths, but his resolve is firm. Closing in on you quickly he softly bites one hard nipple, sharp teeth scraping across your skin as he tugs slightly before releasing to provide the other with the same treatment. 

"Indrid!" His name breaks on a broken moan, causing a shudder to wrack through both of you. Kicking off your boots clumsily, you writhe against him, grinding against whatever part of him you can reach. He seems to pick up on your cues quickly, tugging the soaked denim jeans off your body, leaving you pinned, exposed, save for your underwear. His claws trace the wetness you can't blame on the rain, glancing up at you for the permission you fervently give. 

Moving quickly, Indrid pins your hands against your chest, allowing him to sink down in front of you. The glow of his eyes find yours for a moment before he focuses his attention back to your underwear. He massages the flesh above your hips briefly with the hands still pressing you against the wall, unfurling that tongue once again to lick a strip across your waistband, and then slowly, inexorably licking the outline of the cleft in your sex through the fabric. 

The sound you make isn't human, the teasing delicate touch of his tongue both too much and not enough concurrently. Desperate for direct contact you moan his name again, a plea for more. A plea for him.

Gently pulling your underwear down, slowly trailing bites in their wake, you feel the edge of his mandibles scrape against you, a sharp contrast to the gentle nibbles trailing down your legs. With aching slowness, Indrid finally ghosts a claw against you. His tongue trails languidly across your lips. Brief. Faint. Devastating. Your body shakes to position itself to allow him further access, stopped only by the firm grip he maintains on your hips. He seems in no hurry, content to torture you. 

"Indrid, please!" 

The broken sob seems to finally dismantle the last of his resolve for this exquisite anguish. Claws gently parting your sex, Indrid's tongue flicks out, teasing your sensitive flesh as he finally tastes you. You hear him release a reverent moan between your legs, his breath adding to the overwhelming sensation. You press your hips forward, caging him between your thighs. His alien tongue sinks deeper still, the pressure forcing you to teeter on the edge, moaning praises through your torment.

He releases your bound hands to re-position his own, and you are quick to push your advantage of the movement to stroke up one of those antennae. The growl he releases vibrates directly on that sensitive skin, and your thighs flex involuntarily as he coaxes you through your orgasm. You chase it, not ready to give up that heady sensation, still incredibly aroused. Indrid lifts his head to flash a cheeky grin at you, and that absolutely won't do. 

No longer captive, you wiggle your way down his body. His needy grunt makes you grin as you push him from his kneeling position to leaning against the wall, gently giving him time to readjust his wings. He stares at you hungrily, want clear in the set of his antennae and the glow of his eyes. Your eyes trail his body, biting your lip with a bit of confusion. "Is this, uh, biologically possible? What can I do?"

He smiles dopily at you, antennae dropping shyly. "Quite. Internal until needed." Threading his fingers with yours, he trails that long tongue over your knuckles gently, before guiding your hand to a slit you hadn't noticed before. You apply minimal pressure, and watch fascinated as his cock protrudes, slightly. 

"Hell yes." You wrap one hand around the rapidly growing cock, his length, while not surprising, is still daunting to take in. 

Indrid seems to sense your trepidation, and he gently cups your face with one hand. "You are obligated to nothing. Whatever we do is completely up to you, and I expect no quid pro quo here." 

You gulp, not from fear, but emotion at his consideration. "I cannot begin to tell you how very invested I am in making you feel good. Let me try, but there are always multiple ways to find pleasure, Indrid. And I want to find yours with you." From your earlier exploration of his anatomy, you are certain you know a few things that can make him come apart beneath you. Leaning over across his lap, you caress the inner joint of what would be the wrist, elbow, and shoulder of a human. His delightfully long claws fist against the floor in frustration, pelvis flexing forward in an attempt to graze against you. You sigh, hoping up to grab the paracord bracelet from your bag. 

"Is that supposed to contain me?" Indrid wiggles all of his arms at you, amusement etched on his features. As you unwind the cord from its clasp, revealing two long strands of fabric, he arches a brow. 

"Oh, definitely not. I wouldn't want to contain you. You're magnificent. But they will keep you restrained. Because you want to be. You want to be so very good for me." Indrid wildly nods, keening towards you again. You quickly wrap his wrists, loose but present, arms positioned behind his back and wings resting over the bindings. Smiling at him you settle in his lap, pressing against his upper thigh. He peppers your chest with kisses, grazing you with his mandibles as you reach for his antennae. Gently teasing the edges of one with your fingertips, you hear his breath stutter again beneath you. You hear a whispered 'oh goddess' as you lick a stripe up the center stalk of one antenna before repeating the process on the other. Indrid quivers excitedly beneath you, cock pressed firmly against your inner thigh. Lips moving from his antennae and onto his face, you kiss the edges of his face, watching the glow of his eyes flicker quickly with each touch. You adjust a bit on his lap, allowing access to the upper band of his wing. Your fingers quest forward, massaging each sensitive band with easy pressure, chasing that pressure with feather light kisses. 

Indrid is a whimpering mess beneath you, cock straining in his lap. Laying across his legs, you smile up at him generously before licking straight from the base of his segmented cock to the angled tip, tracing the unique curve.

The glow in his eyes burns the brightest you've seen so far, as he tilts his head back on a primal trill. Bracing yourself, you bring your mouth over the tip, barely taking him in your mouth, but the effect is instantaneous. You catch yourself smiling in the wake of his pleasure. There's no way you'd be able to take this behemoth without some stretching and practice, but you can easily get around that. Cupping your mouth around the side of his cock, you trace the segmented ridges with your tongue, nibbling along the edges with gentle love bites. You wonder if you could trace that slit with the same fervor, if that would be pleasurable for him. As you consider doing just that, his trill turns into a growl and he stutters out a "yes, please," uttering your name like a prayer. 

Reverently, you reach a finger to the inner ridge of his slit. The force of his reaction almost startles you, as his body shivers under the stimulation. An idea takes hold in your brain and you just can't not try it. Reaching up to delicately pet the lower lowermost wing ridge, you get a soft trill of pleasure in return. You lick deliberately over the slit, circling the base of his cock. The sounds Indrid makes have now lost distinction, a delightful purr of ecstasy.

Sitting up abruptly you position yourself to slide against his length, arms wrapping around his neck in a closeness that he immediately welcomes with a nuzzle against your chest. Grinding down against him, you kiss his forehead sweetly, as your fingers quest to fondle his antennae. 

Indrid comes with a shout, bonds snapping effortlessly as his arms wrap around you, cradling you through your second orgasm. Sweaty and spent, you breathe and center yourself for a moment. 

"So was this a future you saw?" You glance up, sheepish grin in place.

"No. Nothing could have predicted you."

You can tell you're blushing and you chide yourself immediately. How very on brand, you think. To have rebound sex with an alien man in a cave and get embarrassed by unabashed sentiment. In an immediate need for self preservation, you search for a change of subject. You can't possibly move at the moment, so you are mostly speaking into Indrid's mane.

"So how do you keep hidden? You seem rather conspicuous, but no one has ugh, confirmed your existence?"

A rumbling laugh wells up from beneath you. "This form isn't one I typically spend a lot of time in, to be Frank. I have an enchantment attached to a pair of glasses that make me look ah, hmm. Normal. Within a rather expanded definition of the word."

"Hold the phone, Velma. You're running around in this hot alien bod because you lost your fucking glasses?"

"Stop grinning like that, you'll steal my brand." Indrid mutters, sullen.

"So why not just, I dunno. Enchant a pine cone or something?" You finally prop yourself up a bit, looking down at Indrid. 

"It has to be something I can wear. I can't really stroll about casually with a pine cone pet."

"I mean, maybe if you add some googly eyes."

He stares up at you, red glow dulling in disbelief. "Right, how could I doubt the credence bestowed by googly eyes."

You hum for a moment before standing to retrieve your long discarded tee shirt. Tearing the fabric with your teeth you sheepishly twine a strip around his wrist. 

"Uh, there. You can use that." He stares down at the impromptu bracelet, antennae impassive. You turn quickly and dress in the now mostly dry spare clothes you packed. Turning back around you find a lanky, seemingly ageless man staring at you with that same dopey look you imagined earlier on that insectoid form. He's attractive, in an unconventional sort of way. The most striking feature you note are those red irises, shining down at you almost adoringly, so familiar from your intimate acquaintance with his natural form.

"You gave me a token." He murmurs, eyes piercing into yours.

"Ah, heh. Yeah, I hope that's not weird." You shove your hands into your pockets, unsure. "I mean, this doesn't have to be a thing. I'm just heading up to Kepler for a bit to camp and then I'm back on the road… so I get if you're not interested in a round two." 

He walks forward slowly, as if scared to spook you, which is probably very wise given your skittish posture. He threads his fingers with yours and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. A sigh of relief floods your lungs. "Funnily enough, I'm on my way to Kepler as well. Care for a lift? We can see where this goes from there."

"Uh, yeah actually that sounds great. Pretty sure my car is a hybrid now so…"

"As in fuel efficient?"

"As in semi aquatic. It is a long story."

"I can't wait to hear it."

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, my name's Rou and I write more for one shot monsterfucking smut than I do per chapter for my ongoing fics.


End file.
